


Give me one more chance

by Ississ



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: College AU, Illnesses, M/M, Self Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2017-11-04 22:32:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/398930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ississ/pseuds/Ississ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It doesn't matter how hard Clint tries, faith is a bitch to him, and he can't protect Bruce from what is rushing into their direction.   No matter how hard he tries, both of them will forever stay, broken little boys. Connected by pain, troubles and love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One good grade

Clint is fucked up.

This is the third time this week that he hasn't even thought about his homework, never mind actually paying attention during class. His grades are dropping really fast. Even he can't believe it. He used to be smart. Fuck it, he still is smart! But he just doesn’t like school anymore. Not that he used to, but it's gotten worse over the last couple of weeks. His interest in almost anything has started to slip away from him. Partying and drinking until he ended up as drunk as could be is the only thing that matters to him. It's kind of what he lives for. 

“Well, don't we look lovely this morning?”

Tony looks at him with something like worry in his eyes as Clint shuffles into the lab. Tony fucking Stark is just as much of a party boy as he is. Hell, Tony drinks more than he does while still managing to maintain a 4.0 and ace any and all tests and exams that are thrown at him. Safe to say he certainly isn't as stupid as Clint, who can do all of none of that. 

“I feel like my head is going to fucking burst.” Clint groans. It's even worse than that, but he doesn’t even want to try and articulate how he really feels.

“Must have been a fucking amazing party last night.” Tony gives him a wink and continues to suck on the end of his pen, as the genius always does when he's bored. "Get laid?"

Clint squints at him, trying to avoid the light at all costs and failing miserably. "Nope. Just drunk." He sighs.

 

Clint isn’t even sure what class they're in right now- chemistry, he realises when the familiar Professor Adams enters the room. Clint fucking hates chemistry. Adams has some kind of project that they're supposed to do in pairs. Something to do with stereoisomers and chirality in pharmaceuticals, he isn't really paying attention. He shoots a look to Tony hoping he'll understand that Clint needs the good grade that he'll surely get if Tony agrees to work with him. But his hopes of getting his grades back up without really working for it are dashed when Professor Adams announces that he will pick the partners.

Karma's a bitch.

He gets paired up with Bruce Banner. Not really a bad thing because Bruce is as smart as Tony, but he doesn't know the boy very well. Fuck, he doesn’t know Bruce at all! He knows his name and he knows that Bruce isn't exactly liked, even if he isn't sure why. 

As he stands up, slowly walking towards the smart-ass boy, his eyes meet Bruce’s for the first time. Of course he has seen Bruce before, but he wasn't really looking. There's something about him; something Clint can't quite place. He doesn't really care, so he shrugs it off and promptly forgets about it. 

“Hey.” He says, plopping down next to Bruce. He looks startled, as if he hadn’t expected him, even though their professor read out the list of partners a few seconds ago.

“Hello.” He whispers. He steadfastly refuses to look Clint in the eye.  
Clint doesn't really care. He understands why Bruce isn’t really eager to talk to anyone. He wouldn’t be if it were him who had to put up with all of the crap their classmates throw at Bruce. At nineteen years old you would think they'd be beyond that by now. Apparently not. 

“So, do you have any idea what we’re supposed to do? I wasn’t really listening.” Clint gives Bruce a shy smile, hoping that they can at least talk to each other. 

“Yes. I do.” And with that Bruce stands up. 

“Hey! Where are you going?” Clint doesn't understand. What's he doing?

Bruce raises an eyebrow while turning around to look at him. “I thought you needed me to do this project for you. I mean, chemistry isn’t really your best subject.”

Clint has no idea how Bruce knows about his failing grade. He supposes Bruce could easily have overheard a conversation between himself and Tony about his ineptitude. 

“It isn’t," He admits, "But it wouldn’t be fair if I let you do all the work, and one good grade isn’t going to save my stupid ass anyway.” Clint gives him another smile and stands up next to Bruce. 

“So if you have any idea what we have to do, I would love to help you out. But please bear in mind that I'm not good at this stuff.”

Bruce looks somewhat amused but his amusement doesn't quite reach his eyes. He looks more like he's afraid. 

“I do have some ideas but I’m not sure if that would make me a showoff.” He whispers, almost too quietly. 

“To bad we can’t say that I helped you with it. No one would believe that.” Clint gives him a smile and gets a little, really little almost non-existent one in return.

Bruce sits back down, glancing quickly at his watch, giving a soft sigh. “It’s no good, I can’t think of something in the five minutes we still have left.”

“You know what…” Clint starts, “I could come over to your house later today, we could think of something and perhaps get going with this.” He begins packing his bag. 

“I’m not sure if that’s a good idea.” Bruce mumbles whilst looking down and fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

“Why's that? Didn’t clean your room? Or do you have a pain-in-the-ass roommate? Don’t worry. My house is also isn't a problem.”

“What isn’t?” Bruce looks up, their eyes meeting.

“If you would like to come over to my house.” Clint gives him another smile. He really needs Bruce to trust him. He was serious about the fact that one good grade won’t save his ass, but it might help. And he isn't really counting on Tony for when he needs tutoring. Perhaps Bruce could help him with that later.

“I’m really not sure…” Bruce starts but whatever he was going to say is cut off by Clint. 

“No I mean it, I don’t want you to be doing all the work, let me come over to your place.” 

“And what if I don’t tell you where I live?” Bruce looks at him, a bit daring. 

“I’ll figure it out anyway.” Clint gives him a wink. And he really means it. Bruce is alright. He's in no way the smart-ass 'I-always-know-better' boy that Clint had expected.

Bruce goes to say something but gets interrupted by Professor Adams telling everyone that they can leave.   
“See you tonight then.” Clint smiles one last time before disappearing into the crowd of fleeing students.


	2. Care an awful lot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because some times, strangers care more about you then the people you've known all your life.

It's already 8pm and it's a good thing that it's a Friday. Going to Bruce's house to work on the project gives Clint a good reason not to go out and get death drunk. He hopes he hasn't left it too late. Bruce never actually gave him his address, implying that he probably isn't expecting him to show up tonight. It sometimes comes in handy to be in good with Tony Stark- he has friends everywhere, including the various offices around campus. Apparently some of his friends 'know Bruce', but really Clint suspects that Tony has paid off someone in the student records office to get the address.

Clint is lounging around the common areas with Joe, a guy from his chemistry class while he waits for Tony to call him and tell him where Bruce lives.   
"I'm sorry to hear about the chem project man,” Joe says, glancing over at Clint briefly before turning his attention back to the TV. Clint is confused.

"What do you mean?" He asks, turning his body now to look at Joe, tilting his head. 

"I heard you got paired with Banner, right? I worked with him last semester. Guy's a nutjob. Good luck."

It takes all of Clint's willpower not to punch that guy in his hateful fucking face. He doesn't think they'll be hanging out together again soon. Instead of punching him, Clint settles for hissing, “He fucking isn’t!”. 

He isn’t sure why he has already gotten so protective over Bruce. Perhaps it was because he now sees that Bruce isn’t a freak or a bad person, like he'd thought before. Maybe it's because he saw how sad he looked during chemistry. He starts to wonder why he had avoided Bruce in the first place. All of his assumptions about him seem to be false. 

He shoots Joe one last look before going to wait for the call in his room. 

Tony comes through with the information Clint needs, so he gathers up his chemistry books and his laptop and begins the walk to Bruce's house. His cell phone is in his pocket, which is unusual for Clint. Tony insists he takes it sometimes, but usually he leaves it at home. Only two people ever call him- Tony and Natasha, and normally, if they know he has his phone, they'll find reasons to call and text him way more often than is necessary. It's fucking annoying, but somewhat endearing. Tonight is one of the nights Tony decides to shove his phone into his pocket as he's heading out the door, with a complete disregard for his personal space, only caring about annoying Clint to the limit. 

He tries to justify himself with “Take it with you just in case. You realise that you actually know nothing about this Bruce guy, yet you're going over to his house at night. What if he’s a murderer? Or a cannibal?” Clint brushes it off. There is nothing to worry about. 

Bruce's house looks really little from the outside. Cosy, but little. Clint already knows that he lives alone. Apparently there was a roommate once, but they didn't get along. Tony had tried to tell him what his guy in the records office had said, but it was clear that he wasn't really interested and so he hadn't bothered to remember the whole story. 

He approaches the front door and presses the doorbell. He thinks something is off. He can see an upstairs window open, but there are no lights on in the house. This wouldn't be unusual on its own, but coupled with the fact that there is music coming from the open window, it seems odd. 

“Bruce!” He yells, banging on the door. “Bruce are you there?” He keeps banging. 

There is no response. Why does it take someone so damn long to open a door? He knows Bruce is home. He can hear the music coming from what is presumably his bedroom. 

He tries the door. It's not locked, but the chain is on. Clint pops his head inside the partly open door and is surprised by what he sees. 

Bruce's house is a mess. Not a mess as in 'I never clean ever'. More like 'I've just ransacked my own place like I’m desperately looking for something'. Clint cocks his head and listens carefully. He can hear a faint whimper and the music has stopped. That's the final straw. Something is very wrong. 

He decides to do something he hasn’t done in a very long time. He kicks in the door. Just like that, with no real reason at all, other than worry for a boy he barely knows. No. A boy he doesn't know, but that he’d like to know. He sees the splinters of wood fly inwards towards the mess of the house, and he pushes the slightly cracked door aside as he steps in.

Clint can't help but notice that aside from the initial mess, the house is completely devoid of any personal touches. It seems so sad, he thinks as he hurriedly makes his way towards the stairs, that Bruce really seems to have no one. There are no photos lying around or on the walls. The clutter is made up of paper and textbooks, nothing that would indicate any kind of life outside of school. 

Then he hears the pained sounds becoming louder. In the eerie quiet of the house, they seem as loud as gunshots. He runs, taking the creaky stairs two at a time, almost falling twice. His heart beating rapidly in his chest. Because he thinks he knows this. He hopes it's not the same. He's been there before and it was one of the worst days of his life. He's done the whole racing upstairs after kicking in a door thing before. Only that time, he was too late. And he’s praying to all the gods above that he isn’t this time.  
“Banner!” he calls out to the empty hallway. One door at the end of the small corridor is slightly ajar, showing him the soft black curls that can only belong to Bruce. He doesn’t know why he is using the boy's last name. He supposes that it's because that's what he did last time, only with a different name and with a different person waiting beyond the door. 

Bruce doesn’t reply nor react to him yelling his name. Clint pushes against the door, bursting into the room and taking in everything he's seeing.

A variety of empty amber coloured bottles and the pills they should contain are spread around the floor. Some are even on Bruce's bed, desk and bookshelf, as if he had tossed them there. 

He smells the blood before he sees it. There is a knife lying next to Bruce’s body, blood on the blade shining, catching the light from the street lamps outside. It’s horrible.

Bruce is laying still. Wrists turned up, blood trickling down his arm from cuts. Clearly fresh, clearly self-inflicted. Clint can feel the absolute terror and panic welling up inside of him. ‘Please don’t let it be like last time. Please.’

His eyes are open. The expression on his face looks somewhat creepy. When Clint enters the room Bruce's eyes move to look at him. The movement is sluggish, but it calms Clint down to know that Bruce is definitely still alive. It's as if he’s too tired to move but wants to show Clint that he has seen and heard him entering. ‘It’s different this time. I can save him this time.’

 “Bruce! What did you do?” Clint yells at first, his voice catching in his throat before finishing his question in a whisper. It's a stupid question. It's quite clear what has occurred. 

He sinks down next to Bruce's limp body, lying there, unmoving but for his eyes. Clint grabs a sheet from Bruce's bed and begins tearing it into strips before putting pressure on the cuts to try and stop the bleeding. He's covering himself in the other boy's blood, but he really couldn't care less at this point. Every now and again, Bruce lets out a pained noise, whimpering softly. 

 “Why did you do this, Bruce?” Clint holds him close against his chest. He becomes vaguely aware that there are tears streaming down his face. He can't wipe them without covering his face in Bruce's blood too, so he lets them fall freely. 

Clint comes to his senses and realises that he needs to call 911. He scrambles for his phone, trying to not to jostle Bruce too much while also silently thanking Tony for insisting that he take his cell phone. The lady on the other end has a soft voice, speaking to him carefully while she explains that they've dispatched an ambulance and it will be with them shortly. She wants him to stay on the line, but Bruce is looking up at him again, moving slightly, so he tells her that that won't be necessary before hanging up and waiting for the ambulance. 

It hits him after a few seconds of silence, just looking down and the almost appallingly skinny guy in his lap, that Bruce is actually dying. Albeit very slowly, and he will soon be helped by the EMTs. But for the time being, his life is in serious jeopardy and he must be in a lot of pain. It occurs to Clint to get him talking and keep him awake.

“Did you want to scare me to death?” Clint runs his hands through Bruce's soft black curls, matted now with blood from Clint's fingers, “Because if you did, I think it’s working.” 

“How did you get in?” Bruce asks weakly, as if he can’t find the strength to really even care that much. 

“The door wasn't locked except for the chain. I kicked that out the way.” Clint admits sheepishly. It sounds weird to tell someone that you kicked in their door, but Clint is mighty glad that he did it. Bruce's eyes start to slide closed again, so Clint taps him gently on the cheek and thinks of more things to ask.

“But why did you do it Bruce? You knew I was going to stop by.”

Bruce looks him right in the eyes. Clint doesn't think he's ever experience such an intense moment before. It gives him chills. 

“I thought you were kidding. That you were just messing with me, making me wait for you for hours before finally accepting that you're just another person who doesn't want to be around me. I'm sick of that happening to me over and over. I just thought I'd save anyone else the trouble of telling me how worthless I am." Tears began to slide down Bruce's deathly white cheeks. Clint just held him tighter. He could faintly hear sirens in the distance.

Bruce balls his hands into fists, making the wounds bleed even more, soaking through the sheets around his wrists, while he looks away from Clint and begins to cry harder. ‘He’s a so pale,’ Clint thinks to himself, ‘No one should be that pale.’

“You're fucking crazy, you know that?” Clint whispers softly while taking an arm in his hand slowly bringing it up so he can tie more blankets there, seeing if he can staunch the flow of blood again. “I almost punched a guy right out because he was making fun of you! I don't think you're worthless, I think it's just you who thinks that”

“I can assure you that I’m not the only one.” Bruce replies, his words slurring slightly towards the end of his sentence. 

Clint slowly lets go of Bruce’s arm, placing his hand against the boy’s cheek forcing Bruce to look him in the eye. 

“Bruce listen to me, I want you to remember my words for the rest of your life do you understand?” The sound of the sirens is getting louder and Clint knows he has little time left to talk with Bruce like this, because he knows that Bruce will be wanting to sleep as soon as the paramedics are done with him. As soon as he’s safe again. Clint also knows that there are going to be questions asked. He's not sure about the procedure this time. Last time he knew he had to call the police. This time, he's doesn't know.

Bruce nods vaguely. “You are not worthless, Bruce. You’re worthy of living just believe me.” He holds him even closer, “Bruce, I know that this may sound strange, but I care! There must be something amazing about you if a guy who, up until eleven hours ago was a complete stranger is here with you now, caring so hard it hurts."

Clint has to try really, really hard not to scream it at Bruce. He feels that would be unhelpful to someone in his situation. He just wants to be clear. He wants it off his chest, he wants to let Bruce know that he isn’t alone in this; that Clint will have his back from now on, no matter how much it’ll cost him.'Because helping Bruce seems so much more important than social status right now.'

As the (now piercingly loud) sounds of the sirens stop coming closer and Clint can see the blue and red lights from outside the window he runs his hand through Bruce his curls one last time.

“Promise me Bruce.” He whispers, trying really hard to keep his voice normal pitched. 

Bruce looks up, mouth opening and closing but finally forming one simple word. “Okay.” 

Clint feels tears of relief and exhaustion start to fall again as he hears the telltale sounds of the paramedics coming through the door.


	3. Was it really all that time ago?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life sucks and nurses can be evil sometimes!

It starts to rain at some point that night leaving everyone who's forgotten his or her umbrella- or even his or her coat- soaked to the bone. 

Clint is one of those people.

It isn’t fair. He rode with Bruce in the ambulance, whispering comforting things to him all the way, and then as soon as he arrived at the hospital, the evil nurses chased him away because he isn't family. He had fully intended to spend the night at Bruce's bedside, but apparently they had other plans. He knows they were just following the rules and doing their jobs, but he can't help cursing them in his mind. 

Clint takes a cab home because apparently the hour is too ungodly for the buses to still be running. He didn't realise until now that it's so late. When he gets in the cab and directs the driver to his home, he becomes more and more agitated and restless as the journey progresses. He had expected that his journey would take less time at 3am, not more, and he's growing impatient with the traffic that just seems wrong at this time of night. 

His thoughts are racing, but they keep circling back to the one thing he's not sure he can handle thinking about in the back of a cab in the middle of the night. He can't believe it's happened again. The first time, he promised himself that nothing like this would ever be allowed to occur again; but in typical Clint fashion, he'd been wrong. All the time in the back of the cab gives him a lot of time to think thoughts along these lines. Too much time. He wants to yell at everyone and everything. The cabbie is dangerously close to getting an earful, but the familiar campus buildings come into sight before he can even open his mouth.   
His taxi finally stops, letting him breathe fresh air for the first time since he got in. He's genuinely convinced that the driver is storing cadavers in his trunk, because nothing should cause a vehicle to reek so badly. The child-locked window controls don't exactly help matters. It's still raining, so Clint sprints towards the building in which he and Tony share an apartment as quickly as he can manage in his exhausted state. It must look odd to anyone watching: Clint racing towards the building in the dead of night (morning, really) holding a cup of crappy-looking coffee and his laptop bag, rather than a half-empty bottle of vodka he'd normally be carrying. He makes it up the stairs and pats himself down in order to find his keys. 

There are a lot of things that Clint hates in daily life. Getting keys into a keyhole in the dark is one of them. A long time ago- half a year, to be precise- Tony grew tired of Clint coming home death drunk from a party and waking up the whole apartment block by scrabbling around outside their door, arguing with his keys, so he installed a lamp outside of their apartment. Clint has since decided that it's Tony's best invention ever. It serves a dual purpose. Not only does it allow Clint to see the lock into which his key is supposed to go, but when he arrives home so drunk he can barely remember his own name, it allows him to identify which apartment is his so he can avoid any awkward moments with the neighbours. 

Right now, Clint is thankful for the lamp once again. He is lost in his own thoughts, and he's drawn to the soft glow almost unconsciously.

Stepping inside their apartment Clint is greeted with the smell of something burned mixed with the strong scent of Natasha’s favourite perfume. It smells like home, he's glad to remind himself. He's still in the foulest of moods, but Natasha never fails to cheer him up, even if it's just the scent of her that's present. 

Sometimes Clint- and other people too, actually- wonder why he and Natasha aren’t a couple. They're best friends and have been forever. They know everything about each other. Damn, they've even kissed a few times. They shared their first kisses with each other in junior high because they were both too nervous to try it on other people. It had been a great kiss as far as first kisses go, but it never actually lead anywhere. Clint just can't see Natasha as anything other than 'Tasha' his best friend. Starting a relationship would just feel like incest.

She is always there if he needs her. She was there junior year of high school when he came to terms with his bisexuality (Even if she’s the only one that knows). She's been there whenever he's been drunk and down on his luck. She's there to kiss his forehead and put him to bed, staying with him until the morning to help him nurse his hangover. 

However, no matter how sweet Natasha can be when they're alone, he knows she could kick his ass any time. She's the only girl (probably the only person other than Tony) who can drink double the amount he does and still appear poised and alert.

He spends a second wishing she was here while he unlocks the door. He doesn't know what he'd tell her if she was. He's not sure he could share Bruce's story so soon.

With one, swift, motion he turns on the lights, throwing his (thankfully) padded laptop bag to the ground. 

“Oh, it’s you.” Tony glances up briefly when he hears the thud of Clint's computer on the floor. He's sitting on the sofa tinkering with something electronic. Most likely a robot-to-be, Clint thinks. It's hardly an unusual sight to see Tony, building things in the middle of the night, but it somehow pisses Clint off to see things so normal after having his world turned upside down for the last few hours. 

“Of course it's me, idiot. Whom else would you expect at…” Clint's eyes turn to the clock on the ridiculously expensive DVD/Blu-Ray player. “...3am?”

Tony looked up. Looking utterly bored. "I don't know. Someone sexy?" he suggests, looking as innocent as possible.

This would normally be the point at which Clint would act wounded, pretending Tony's subtle dig cut him deep. Tonight, however, he's just not in the mood. He turns around, facing away from the other boy, pulling his wet, practically transparent t-shirt from his body. He drops it on the ground, not caring about it once it's landed. He's still feeling shaken up and angry and doesn't really feel like talking any more. 

"Don't you have anything better to do? Can't you find real friends instead of building them? Or are robots the only things that don't just want you for your money?"

"It's 3am, of course I have nothing better to do", Tony manages to look bored even though Clint knows his comment probably hurt Tony, even if it's just a little. His eyes return to the circuit board in his hands, “I had expected you back sooner” 

“I wasn't aware I had a curfew, dad. What time did you think I'd be back?” Clint decided in the cab that he wasn't going to breathe a word of what happened with Bruce to his roommate. It isn't his story to tell. He also just isn't in the mood for a raised eyebrow from Tony. It's his 'didn't I tell you he was crazy' eyebrow raise. Clint has seen it many times before. 

"What time did you leave here tonight?"

"Eight pm", He replies. Was it really all that time ago?

“Then I expected you back at ten past eight.” 

Tony turns his head back around slowly until he's facing Clint again. He has a look on his face that's part amused; part accusing. 

“What did you do at what's-his-name's place for so goddamn long? Don't even try to tell me you worked on a chemistry project."

“I went to a party afterwards. Why are you even asking? What I do isn't any of your damn business!"

Tony stays silent for a second before sitting up and putting down his circuit board.

"What's that?" He cups a hand to his ear, "Can't you hear the faint beeping of my bullshit detector? I know you didn't go to a party. And of course it's my business! I'm your best friend" He manages to look extremely pleased with himself while maintaining his concerned expression.

Clint really isn't in the mood to have this conversation. With his level of exhaustion he'll never tell a convincing enough lie to get Tony off his back. So he sighs in resignation and decides that it's time to make his retreat. 

“You're not my best friend. That's Tasha. I'm going to bed, anyway. I might see you tomorrow, if you don't kill us both by starting a fire with the soldering iron you've inevitably left on in your room." He picks up his t-shirt, leaving his laptop where it is on the floor, and heads to his bedroom. 

He stops at the door when he hears Tony's response. He can tell Tony is grinning at him from the sofa.

“I'll have you know, the soldering iron is off. It's the miniaturized linear accelerator I've built in the kitchen you should be worried about”

“GOOD NIGHT STARK!” He slams the door shut with unnecessary force. While he's calmed down a little, he's still feeling pretty pissed and it felt good to make some noise. He falls onto his bed and falls asleep almost immediately without even getting undressed.

To top off the whole horrific evening, he's not even sure if Tony's joking about the linear accelerator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I know that this is my first Author note in the story but I'm using it to thank my Beta, who has done an awesome job with this. Really guys, without her this story would be just a piece of crap. She's the one that makes it awesome.   
> She's on Tumblr, add her, her blog is so worth it! 
> 
> http://virgildodderidge.tumblr.com/
> 
> Also, I'm sorry that the update was so slow, I had a big authors-block and kind of some trouble in my private life :C But I promise that the updates will go faster from now on!


	4. Horrible at lying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you just need to lie, but Clint can recommend not to lie to Natasha!

For the first time in a long time, Clint wakes up without the usual hangover, a feeling he had forgotten. He blinks the sleep out of his eyes as he stares at the ceiling, replaying the events of the last 24 hours in his head. It still doesn't feel real to him; like it was a nightmare he could forget. He knows that's not true, however, and knows he has to face it sometime. 

He actually feels good, which is not what he expected. He was expecting to want to stay in bed until someone came to get him, but he doesn't feel like being in his room all day. He actually wants to move around and interact with people. Drink some coffee, maybe. Definitely. Living with Tony is definitely beginning to affect his beverage preferences. 

He gets out of bed and pulls his bedroom door open, looking out into the living room to check for signs of activity. The back of Tony’s head greets him. It looks like he actually hasn't moved since last night (well, technically this morning, considering the hour at which he arrived home). It's not that unusual for Tony to stay up all night, but he's usually passed out on the couch before Clint gets up. Natasha is seated next to him this morning, however, and they appear to be engaged in an argument- if their angry whispering is anything to go by. 

"Tony, you can't just leave it there! It could be dangerous! What are you even trying to do with it?" He hears Natasha whisper before she catches sight of Clint out of the corner of her eye. Clint isn't even sure he wants to know what Tony did this time.   
“Good morning Tasha.” Clint presses a kiss to her cheek, as usual, before shambling towards the kitchen. 

“Morning honey.” Natasha stands up and makes her way over to hug Clint while Tony is still arguing with her. 

"But I need it- hey, hey Natasha! You know it's rude to just walk away in the middle of an argument! I'm going to assume I've won!”   
Natasha probably isn't listening anyway.

Stepping into the kitchen, Clint notices that something is off. The table is moved around and the refrigerator is turned sideways. He sighs before turning to the empty space to confirm his suspicions. Why yes, there is a fucking linear accelerator in the kitchen. That answers the question of what Tasha and Tony were arguing about. “Is that really....” He’s suddenly close to fainting. 

“Yes it is. Coffee?” Clint adores how Natasha can stay so calm, but on the other hand, it's not her kitchen so she really has nothing to worry about. He'll have to ask about maybe going to live with her and Pep for a bit while Tony tones down his weirdness. 

“When did my life go so wrong?” Clint mumbles while Natasha presses a hot cup of coffee into his hands.  
Natasha ignores the question, instead choosing to eye his outfit suspiciously. Clint is waiting for her remark on him sleeping with his clothes on, but her actual question catches him slightly off guard. 

“When did you buy this stuff?” she points to the shirt that he’s wearing- the shirt that obviously isn’t his. 

“Huh?” Clint figures the best course of action is to play dumb, and if that fails: deny, deny, deny. 

“The clothes you’re wearing, I’m pretty sure that those are not the clothes you were wearing when I saw you yesterday. And also, I know your wardrobe. They're not yours.”   
“Well I went out shopping after I left.” 

"They're the wrong size"

"Well, I really liked this shirt when I saw it and they didn't have the size I wanted, so I just bought it a size smaller." Natasha clearly isn't buying it, "A tight t-shirt will get me more attention at the club?"  
Natasha lets out a sigh before slapping the back of his head hard, making a loud, unpleasant sound and causing pain to radiate from the affected area.

“OW! What the hell Tasha! Overreaction much? It's just a shirt!” Clint grabs his head and winces. He knows that will probably still be tender in a couple of days. He hears Tony laughing at his pain from the other room.

“Don’t lie to me Barton!” Wow, last name only. She's really pissed. Clint figures she must know more than she's letting on, “What happened at Banner’s last night?” 

Shit. Clint thinks. He's not entirely sure he's ready to share the events of last night with anyone. 

“We, um, worked on that project like I told you we were going to.” 

“What part of don’t lie to me don’t you understand?” While Natasha doesn't seem mad anymore, she can still be scary when she wants to be. The worry begins to show in her voice when she continues, though. 

“Trish, who has history with me, called and told me that an ambulance picked Banner up last night, and you went with him. So don’t give me the ‘we worked on that project bullshit’. Tell me what happened, Clint.” 

Clint lets out a sigh. He knows he's defeated and he's going to have to share with Natasha. He supposes it might be good to talk to someone, but he can't help feeling that it's not his story to tell. He doesn't want to feel like he's invading Bruce's privacy. 

He turns around, walking out of the kitchen without even looking behind him, knowing that Natasha will follow. If he's going to have this conversation, it's certainly not going to be in the kitchen, anywhere near Tony or his crazy experiments. 

Tony is back in his position on the couch, glancing up at Clint and Natasha, both of whom ignore him completely. He's trying to look as innocent as possible, even though it's obvious he's trying to refrain from making a comment.

“Nice shirt Clint.” he quips, with a knowing smile. So his self-control could use a little work. As if it wasn’t already perfectly clear that he had ‘accidentally overheard’ their conversation in the kitchen anyway. 

Clint walks into his bedroom, grabbing some of his own clothes out of his closet. He turns to Natasha and holds the clothes up in front of her. 

"Happy?" He asks. She just gives him a meaningful look, a mixture of amusement and concern on her face. 

She tilts her head towards the bathroom, indicating that he should go first. Clint just sighs, tosses the bundle of clothes to her, and makes his way into the large bathroom.

The bathroom was (just like everything else in their apartment) up to SS. 'Stark Standards'. It was a joke he and Tasha shared. If something was big, overpriced, and shiny, Tony was sure to like it. The bathroom was all of these things, with not only a gigantic shower but also a bubble bath and a heated towel rack. Clint had begged Tony for the SS bathroom in exchange for taking the smaller bedroom when they'd first moved in. He's still convinced he made the right choice. 

Natasha walks into the bathroom right behind him. He had been planning on showering solo, but apparently she wants to talk now.

“Tasha! Now?” He hisses, knowing that Tony would be eavesdropping on the other side of the door. 

“Turn on the water!” She whispered before banging on the door a couple of times. 

Clint does as he's told, really not wanting a bigger problem with Natasha than he already seems to have. He twists the knob to turn on the shower and the noise of the water effectively covers any conversation happening in the bathroom from anyone (Tony) who happens to be outside. 

“Now, tell me.” Natasha didn’t sound annoyed like before, which was good, he supposes. 

“I can’t, Tasha”

Clint removes the shirt that he borrowed from Bruce, casually throwing it on the pile of dirty clothes in the far corner, making a mental note to wash and return it, before turning to face her again. 

“And why not?”

“Because, I...” Actually Clint has no idea. Natasha can be trusted, she hasn’t told anybody about his bisexuality (or any other secret he's shared with her since middle school), and she's never been hostile towards Bruce. In fact, she's always seemed disappointed to see him getting harassed (not that she's ever done anything about it but at least she's technically on Bruce's side).  
“Promise me you won’t tell anybody else” He whispers before grabbing an incredibly soft towel out of one of the many cabinets. He closes the cabinet door and leans his forehead against it, sighing, “He tried to kill himself.” 

“Wow. Is he okay? I had no idea the bullying was that bad” Natasha sits on the floor, legs crossed implying she's going to be staying a while. She examines her nails, obviously not knowing what else to say. Clint doesn't really blame her. If their situations were reversed he wouldn't know where to start.

“I didn't either. Man, Tasha, I don't know what to do. I was so scared. I hate feeling so helpless.” Clint finally feels the last of this morning's good mood leave him. He hadn't realized how hard what had happened would hit him when he spoke the words out loud. He feels tears building in his eyes. 

Natasha looks up, her face showing emotion in the way it only does when she's around Clint. She meets his gaze before speaking.

“I’m sorry,” She whispers. “I know what happened with your nephew. Just bear in mind that you saved a life last night. It's not like last time.” She gives him a soft smile before turning her head so Clint can take off the rest of his clothes and step into the shower cubicle. Her respect for his modesty is new. Usually she takes any chance she can get to stare at his ass. 

"How do you get yourself into situations like this?" She continues, "You've seen way too much sadness for someone who's only nineteen."

“Don't be sorry. Bruce is going to be fine. I'm going to make sure of it.” He hears the soft beeps of Natasha's phone and frowns. 

“I swear to god if you're tweeting or whatever right now, I'll kill you. You're totally ruining the moment!"

“You know I wouldn't do that. I’m texting Pepper to let her know I need the car today. I'll need it to take you to the hospital” 

Like Clint and Tony, Pepper and Natasha share an apartment a few blocks away. It's pretty funny how things have worked out. Tony's best friend lives with Clint's best friend. It's great to know that he's always welcome at Tasha's place, but it does mean that Pepper (and by extension Tony) knows way too much about the parts of his life he tries to keep hidden from them. Perhaps Natasha can't be trusted after all. 

"You do want to visit him, right?"

"Yes" Clint replies, poking his head out the shower, dripping water on the tiled floor. 

"And you don't have a car, right?"

“Well... No.” 

“Then it’s settled. I'm driving you,” Natasha throws the towel to him when he turns off the water. “Quick question though: why were you wearing his clothes?”   
“Oh, that. One of the paramedics saw all the blood on my shirt and asked if I had any clean clothes with me,” Clint wraps the towel around his middle stepping out the shower so he can look at Natasha. "Of course, I didn't happen to have a change of clothes, so I grabbed the first shirt I saw as we were heading out to the ambulance. I didn't really want to wander around the hospital covered in blood. Never mind what Tony would say when I got home."

Natasha nods, attention already turned back to her phone. “I’ll take you to the hospital in an hour, okay?” she mumbles without looking. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks Tasha.” Clint mumbles while drying his hair. He leans over to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. 

“Now, get out, I need to get ready!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohh? What was that? A mention of something, of a Nephew? 
> 
> Well I shall explain all of that in a later chapter! I'm sorry that it's not coming along as quickly as I would have hoped, but this fic is going to be long and I want to take the time of getting you guys into the characters and into their lives, not just rush it to the 'relationship' part!
> 
>  
> 
> Again a big thank you to my Beta. This is a shoutout to her, because she's the best Beta in the world!


	5. I was hoping you would....

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ....I really was

Clint wonders if he’s underdressed. He’s dressed casually in a simple t-shirt and his favourite jeans. How do you dress when you’re going to visit a person who has just tried to kill himself? He thinks maybe he should change into something more formal.    
“Are you ready to go?” 

Natasha sits next to Tony on the couch, she’s playing with the TV remote as if she wants to change channels, but isn't sure what will be said about it. Clint is pretty sure that she doesn't want to watch a documentary about raccoon mating. At least she and Tony are being civil. 

“Yeah, I think so. Do you think I should change into something more formal?” He asks, trusting Natasha’s knowledge about these things more than his own. Tony chips in before she can respond.   
“Where are you two going anyway?” Tony asks. He really does his best to let it sound as though he doesn't care about the answer, but he fails. Tony is a great friend when he wants to be (despite his weirdness), but there are some things he just doesn't need to know yet lest the entire campus finds out the next time he starts drinking. 

Natasha just ignores him completely, turning away from the television to look at Clint instead. 

“No, I think this is great. You shouldn’t overdo it.”

Tony and Tasha aren’t his only friends. But they're the two closest to him. There is also Pepper, Tony’s best friend and sometimes the only thing keeping Tony alive. Clint liked her the moment he met her and has since found that she is honestly the nicest person he knows. That's how Tony gets away with being even more reckless or lazy than usual when she's around, because he knows that she'll always help clean up his messes, be it literally or figuratively. He sometimes thinks Tony doesn't deserve her, but he knows he appreciates her. She knows that too.   
There's also Thor and Loki, transfer students from Europe even if Clint isn’t sure from which country. He knows they're from one of the Nordic countries, but it's never occurred to him to ask which one. Depending on who you're talking to, they could be from Norway, Sweden, Denmark, or even Iceland. They're brothers, but honestly Clint can't understand how that happened. They are so unlike one another that one of them has to be adopted.

Thor is a fun guy who’s always up for a good laugh and a drink or two. Or seven. He’s blond and really the spitting image of the illustrations of Vikings you might see in history books. He’s just as broad and Clint is pretty sure that he would be able to lift a small car. Clint has seen him on several occasions carrying both Pepper and Natasha together, requiring seemingly no effort.

Loki on the other had is smaller, thinner. His hair is black instead of blond and he always looks unamused. He never seems to be enjoying himself. It's as if he dislikes being wherever he is, which is mostly with the group of friends. Sometimes he looks as if he’s really embarrassed for his brother, which Clint could imagine being true. He would be embarrassed too if his brother was the spirit of a Labrador puppy trapped inside the body of what Clint can only describe as a warrior. Despite appearances, Loki is actually a fun guy. He is happiest when he's pranking someone, living up to his namesake. He wouldn't admit it to the others, but Clint sometimes prefers to be around Loki than Thor. 

~

Natasha drives Clint to the hospital, chatting with him as if it was a normal trip to the mall. It's weird, but it feels nice. They talk about the usual stuff: How Thor has eaten everything in Natasha and Pepper’s fridge again, what Tony is even planning on doing with the linear accelerator (They really can't speculate. They can't decide if they should report him to the police or the Institute of Physics! What he's done is truly remarkable, despite it being incredibly annoying), How Loki pulling a prank on the Dean (involving his car and an almost inconceivable amount of liquid Nitrogen) and not getting caught. Yes, life is normal for a second. But only a second, before Natasha breaks the silence that had fallen. 

“So, what are you planning on saying to Bruce?” Natasha asks, manoeuvring the car into one of the ridiculously tiny hospital parking spaces.

“No idea.” Clint answers honestly. What do you even say to somebody you barely know? Perhaps he should lead with something lighthearted. 'Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy, but I saved your life, so maybe you want me to help you get through the issues you seem to have that led to you attempting suicide?'. He decides he's definitely not going to do that. 

“Maybe you should just tell him how worried you where?” Natasha’s voice is soft and caring and Clint really likes her like this. It's such a contrast to the scary persona she puts on to everyone outside their tight-knit group.

“Maybe I should.” 

Natasha nods, pressing a kiss on his cheek. 

“Now go. Just give me a call when you need me to pick you up.” 

~ 

Bruce is in a different room than the one he was in last night. He's told by one of the nurses that they moved him as soon as he was stable. It's weird trying to figure out how to get in to see him. Clint's never actually been to a hospital to visit someone in a situation like this. He's only ever had to visit the morgue. 

As Clint carefully opens the door to the room, he notices there's already someone there. He's not one of Bruce's attending physicians, he’s sure of that. The nurses had told him they were seeing other patients, so he couldn't talk to them. But the man sitting at Bruce's bedside seems professional and he appears to be taking notes on a clipboard.

“Well, that’s it then Bruce-” The man says Bruce’s name with no emotion, almost as if he would rather not be here, as if he would not be talking to Bruce. Clint is sure he's a psychiatrist. “-You’ve passed the test. I'll tell your doctors that you’re able to go home as soon as your physical condition allows it. But you will be put on suicide watch so if you have someone with who you can stay that would be a-”

“I don't have anyone.” Bruce interrupts. He looks completely hopeless. He really does have no one. 

“Well, when you can find somebody, then we should be okay to release you .” The man smiles at him, even though it's clear he doesn't mean it. Going by the limited experience Clint has had with mental health professionals, this man doesn't seem to be a particularly good one.

"Good day Bruce"

“Good day Doctor Williams.” 

Doctor Williams turns around and walks towards the door, noticing Clint standing there. 

“Ah, Bruce it seems you’ve got a visitor.”

He mumbles a quick “excuse me.” before nodding curtly, walking past Clint and closing the door behind him. Clint hadn't been expecting to walk into a situation like this. He's caught completely off guard, not knowing whether or not he should acknowledge the fact that he's just overheard Bruce admitting that he has no one.

“Hey.” Clint mumbles. 

He looks at Bruce laying there in white bed that looks entirely too large, surrounded by all those beeping machines. Bruce is still way too pale for Clint’s liking but he looks better than last night. His cheeks have a bit more colour. 

“Hello.” Bruce replies. His voice is almost a whisper. The expression on his face clearly shows he hasn't been expecting visitors. 

“How are you feeling?” 

Clint goes to sit on the chair Dr Williams just vacated. He is initially unsure about whether or not he should have sat down, but when Bruce manages a small smile he relaxes a little. 

 

“Better.”

“That’s good to hear.” 

 

There is an awkward silence. Clint has no idea what to say to Bruce. He has no idea what they could talk about. He doesn't want to sit in silence for too long, so in lieu of choosing his words carefully he just blurts out the first things that pops into his head. 

“You could stay at my place if you want. Me and Tony have plenty of space, really.” 

He turns beet red as soon as he said it. Because what was he thinking? He definitely wants Bruce to come stay with them. He wants to make sure that he’s safe. 

Clint supposes that's just his thing. Taking people under his wing and caring for them is kind of what he does. He did the same thing with Natasha when she first entered Mr Jameson's classroom in the 7th grade. She was the Russian girl everyone was afraid of, but Clint wanted to help. He did the same with Tony, the rich boy who has trouble letting anyone in, with Thor, the goofball who wants to make friends so desperately that the scares people away. Even Loki initially needed some of his help. 

 

He loves every single one of them. His group of friends isn’t the perfect example of perfect emotionally balanced people but when they are together it doesn’t matter anymore. Because they all understand how hard it is to live in a world that doesn’t want to accept you for who you are.

“R-really?” Bruce asks nervously, looking up with an expression of surprise. 

“Yeah! Of course!” suddenly Clint notices how weird it must be from Bruce’s point of view. This weird kid that he barely knows asking him to move in with him, so Clint quickly continues, “Or I could stay with you? Or I could just help to suicide-proof your house if you'd prefer? You know, remove any shoelaces and knives and stuff. Whatever you feel most comfortable with. I just want to help."

Bruce bites his bottom lip for a second. 

“No.” He whispers, “I would prefer to stay with you for a little while, as long as that's okay with Tony.” 

Clint nods. 

“Then it’s settled.” He laughs, sitting back up in his chair and resting his elbows on the edge of Bruce's bed, “Now tell me, what’s your favourite colour?” 

“Excuse me?” Bruce asks, a blush appearing on his cheeks. He shifts on the bed slightly. 

“I want to know your favourite colour because of one, simple reason. I want to be your friend Bruce, and friends know that kind of stuff about each other.” 

There is an silence only interrupted by the beeping of the machines and Clint starts to panic again, because how do you explain to a boy who feels this bad about himself that you want to be his friend? And that you’re not planning on letting him down, because you simply care too much for him to do that. That you want to make up for every single time you saw him getting bullied and didn't say a word.

“Green.” Bruce looks at Clint, eyes meeting for a split second, “Yours?” 

“Purple.” Clint notices a small smile beginning to form on Bruce's face, “Hey, what’s wrong with purple?” He pretends to look offended.

“Nothing. I just thought you would prefer like, a really manly colour. Not purple. My grandma liked purple!” The smile is now fully visible. Bruce has a beautiful smile. 

“And what in god's name is a manly colour?” Clint smiles too. “Black? Tony always tells me that black isn't actually a colour; it's an absence of light. So there. What makes you think I would like black?” 

“Because you always wear black clothes” Bruce nods towards the black t-shirt he’s wearing and it doesn’t occur to Clint that Bruce just said ‘always’, implying he regularly checks on what Clint is wearing. 

"Hey, have you ever tried to find a manly looking purple shirt? The only one I've ever seen is that purple button down I saw you wear a few of weeks ago." 

Clint immediately realises what he's just said and Bruce just tilts his head in confusion. Neither of them mention that it's somewhat odd that Clint would recall a shirt Bruce wore weeks ago. 

Bruce laughs weakly. The sound is a bit raw but it still sends a shiver down Clint's spine. He could definitely get used to hearing Bruce laugh. 

They talk for a bit longer. Nurses keep coming and going, until they’re interrupted by a doctor who checks Bruce over once more before letting him know that he's okay to go home on the condition that he has someone with him and that he'll start seeing a psychiatrist. Clint hopes he doesn't have to see Dr Williams again. 

He learns that Bruce doesn’t really have a favourite dish, but he enjoys all kinds of fish and he’s a big fan of foreign cuisine. Bruce likes a lot of movies and but doesn’t have a favourite genre, but he really hates action movies, particularly Michael Bay movies. He’s just as smart as Clint suspected, and he's into all kinds of science stuff like Tony. He doesn't seem quite as obsessive as Tony, or as prone to sleepless weeks, but Clint supposes no one is. He's never met another person quite like Tony and he doesn't think he ever will.

Bruce is an incredibly interesting guy. When Clint gets him talking, he finds that he could listen to Bruce talk for hours. He has an opinion on pretty much everything and he seems happy to share them. Clint can't help but wonder why he never talks back to the bullies, he certainly seems capable of talking his way out of a situation.

“Why are you never like this in class?” Clint asks after Bruce has just finished his rant on the wasteful use of water in America while getting dressed in his own clothes. 

“I am.” Bruce smiles for a second but that quickly turns into a frown, “But no one's ever stuck around to listen to what I have to say."

Clint looks at Bruce, at the pale boy who has tried to kill himself the day before and who has been dying right in his arms. He feels an overwhelming sense of responsibility for everything that's happened. He just wants to protect Bruce from the world and now that they're on the path to being friends, he finds he never wants to let him go ever again.

“I care. I care what you have to say and I will be listening from now on. I'm sorry I never have before.” 

He softly takes Bruce’s hand, running a finger across the bandages around his wrist before letting go again. After all, he doesn’t want Bruce to think he's going to take advantage or anything. He just wants to show he cares. 

“I was hoping you would. I really was.”


	6. A punk kid and a spy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint doesn't pay attention while packing his bag and Natasha has gone out shopping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? An update?! 
> 
> My beta has just started Uni and it was a lot more work then she suspected! 
> 
> Further updates shall NEVER take as long as this one ever again. I promise!

After talking for a while longer and getting to know each other slightly better Clint hands over a bag of clothes he brought for Bruce to change into. He knows they won’t fit properly, what with Bruce being so skinny compared to himself, but it’s certainly better than anything the hospital could provide. 

While Bruce is changing, Clint calls Natasha’s cell to arrange a pickup. When she finally answers after 13 rings, claiming to not have been able to find her cell phone, she lets him know that she’s close to the hospital and she’ll be there in 10 minutes. Clint ends the conversation with the usual sarcastic “Bye Dear, love you”.

As he suspected, the clothes are almost comically large on Bruce. He manages to look as much like some punk kid as he does a scared little boy, wearing one of Clint’s favourite comfy Mötley Crüe t-shirts and the smallest jeans he could find (which are actually Tony’s, but he never needs to know that). While he doesn’t look exactly comfortable, Clint knows Bruce appreciates the thought.

“Ready to go?” Clint asks as Bruce wanders back into the room to put on the shoes he brought for him (also Tony’s, but he still doesn’t need to know). He gives Bruce a smile as he puts on his jacket. 

“Yeah,” says Bruce, biting his lip slightly, “Was that your girlfriend?” He points to the pocket where Clint has just put his phone. 

“Who, Tasha? No no no!” Clint laughs. “Natasha is my best friend, we just call each other names like Dear and Honey because it’s funny. She’s basically my sister, man.”

Clint glances down to Bruce’s wrists for a second to see him rubbing at them. The compression bandages are clearly visible to all, something that Clint hadn’t even considered when picking out the t-shirt. 

“Hey dude, don’t.” Clint reaches out, grabbing Bruce’s hand. He flinches slightly and Clint mentally curses himself. 

“You’re just going to make them worse. And it might draw attention to them.”

“Y-yes, yes perhaps. Sorry.” Bruce looks justifiably nervous. 

“No need to apologise, Bruce. Everything is going to be okay”, Clint looks him in the eyes, “Believe me.”

Bruce nods. He rubs his bandages one more time before smiling. 

“I can’t wait to see your apartment. I bet it’s a mess.” 

Wow, Bruce Banner just made a joke. Well, sort of… Bruce Banner just attempted a joke. It’s good enough for Clint.

“It is not! Well, sometimes it is. But right now it’s clean! Unless you count a small linear accelerator in the kitchen as mess, which I do not.” Clint picks up the bag he packed for Bruce and heads towards the door, Bruce in tow.

“Come on, Natasha’s going to be here in a couple of minutes, and she doesn’t like to wait.”

“Sounds almost like you’re afraid of her.” Bruce smiles, trying to take the bag from Clint. Clint responds by lifting it above his head, making sure Bruce is unable to reach it before continuing down the corridor. 

“Of course I’m afraid of her! Don’t you know she’s Russian?” Clint shoots him a ‘what can you do?’ look, making Bruce laugh. They walk past various nurses and doctors still laughing and joking. Some nurses raise their eyebrows as they go past. It must seem slightly strange that a boy who yesterday didn’t think life was worth living is suddenly being made to laugh by a goofy acting friend. Clint feels glad that he’s been able to do that for Bruce. 

Natasha is parked right outside the doors to the hospital (a spot which is not strictly legal, but no one will argue); she’s leaning against the car with a cigarette in her hand. She’s changed clothes since Clint saw her a couple of hours ago (who does that?), so she’s obviously been shopping while he was gone. She’s got herself a fancy black leather jacket and the heels she has on her feet don’t look like she should be able to stand in them, never mind drive! Anyone who doesn’t know her would probably think she’s some kind of spy. Hell, anyone who does know her still thinks that. 

The car she’s leaning against doesn’t exactly lessen the image. The red Porsche she drives may not be hers, but she certainly looks the part. The car belongs to Pepper. It had been a surprise gift from Tony. He does that a lot. They joke that he’s getting Pepper a mansion for her next birthday, but they don’t mention it to him, lest he get any grand ideas. 

“Hey Honey. Hi Bruce.” Natasha smiles brightly to Bruce and gives Clint a kiss on his cheek before taking the bag and placing it on the tiny shelf that is the back seat. 

“I’ll sit in the back”, Clint offers, peering through the door at the seat full of bags from various stores and boutiques, “ Seems like you’ve purchased the entire mall again. We’re supposed to be broke college students! Do you have an estimate of when exactly your closet will be full?” 

If Clint were to guess, the closet will never be full. She and Pepper live in a place similar to his and Tony’s apartment, meaning Natasha’s closet is about the size of the entire School of Art at the college. Tony insists on buying them fancy things no matter how much they resist, so they ended up with a place that really shouldn’t be available to kids still in college. It doesn’t hurt that Pepper’s family isn’t exactly poor to start with. 

Clint will never understand girls’ infatuation with clothes and shoes. When he first met her he would never have guessed that Natasha was the type of person to enjoy going through her best friend’s shoe collection and picking out her favourite pairs.

Natasha just rolls her eyes at him and gestures towards the back seat. Clint is too busy planning how he was going to fit in there with all that stuff and exactly zero leg room to pay attention to any response she might have to his previous remark. 

“It’s okay, Clint. I’ll sit there, you can go up front” Bruce smiles at him weakly. It’s clear Bruce is trying to be as little of a nuisance as possible, like even after talking with Clint for all this time, he still doesn’t get that he’s not a burden and Clint wants him around. 

“Nah, it’s fine. Clint loves small spaces.” Natasha gives him a pointed look. 

“I do n... Yeah, love them! I would prefer to sit in the back, actually. Much comfier.” He smiles at Bruce before climbing into the back seat and positioning himself, legs crossed, in between all the bags. 

Outside the car, Natasha places a hand on Bruce’s shoulder carefully. 

“I’m glad that you’re still here. I’m sorry for everything that happened but I can promise you that nothing like that’s ever going to happen again.” 

“Um.. Thanks.” Bruce smiles at her and gets into the passenger seat. While he appreciates the sentiment, he’s clearly uncomfortable. 

~ 

The ride home is mostly silent, save for the occasional incoming text message or email on Natasha’s phone. Clint is just about to ask her to turn it off when he realises that the latest message is his. 

It’s from Tony: Hey man, get back here. Everyone’s over.

“Shit.”

“What’s wrong?” Asks Natasha, looking at him in the rear-view mirror. Bruce turns to look round at him too. 

“Who was that?”

“It was Tony. How does everyone feel about a party?” Clint smiles nervously, thinking about how this is literally the worst time Tony could have thought of to have friends over. 

He sees Bruce visibly tense, his shoulders rising slightly and his fingers going back to the bandages to start rubbing them again. This is not what he signed up for when he agreed to stay with Clint. 

“Really, Clint? Tony decides to have friends over now?” Natasha manages to communicate her exasperation while keeping her eyes firmly on the road. How she does things like that Clint will never know. He can’t even see her face but he knows she’s got her eyebrows angled slightly downwards, a tiny crease appearing near her mouth showing the slightest hint of a frown. Her facial expressions are an art form. 

“It’ll be fine. Usually when Tony says ‘party’ he means the guys are over, and we will mostly be watching television whilst making inappropriate remarks about everyone’s least favourite news anchors. Tony really has it out for that guy Chad Hogan on Fox News. He has a segment at 10.” He says all of this mainly to Bruce. He wants to reassure him. Make sure he feels safe. 

“Who are ‘the guys’?” Bruce asks tentatively.

“It’s usually just Tony and I, Tasha, Steve, Thor, his brother Loki, and Pepper. Sometimes Rhodey. You know most of them, right? If not, you’ll love them.” Clint is sure Bruce has been in some of the same gen-ed classes as Pepper, Rhodey and Steve, but he’s not sure about Thor and Loki. They can be pretty weird to meet for the first time. 

“Thor? You mean Thor Odinson?” 

“That’s the guy. How do you know him?”

Bruce fiddles with his bandages some more before answering.

“The football team like to make fun of me sometimes. He’s on the football team.”

Clint had forgotten this fact. He can’t believe for a second that Thor was involved in any sort of bullying though. He’s literally one of the nicest guys Clint has ever met. And the football team bullying the science nerds? That sort of shit still happens? Is this high school?

“He wasn’t involved though, right?” Natasha asks for him, looking concerned. Natasha loves Thor as much as he does and the thought of him being cruel to anyone is heart-breaking. 

“No. He wasn’t, but he didn’t stop them when he was there, which is just as bad.”

Natasha and Clint both instantly feel uncomfortable. Clint has never felt guiltier in his life. He doesn’t think that was a pointed remark at either Tasha or him, but he still wishes he could go back and save Bruce sooner. Does Bruce harbour some sort of secret grudge against them? Is he only accepting their help because he doesn’t have any other options?

“That’s going to change, Bruce, I promise. No more of that. And I’m sorry we didn’t do anything sooner.”

Bruce turns away to look out the window as they pull into the street Tony and Clint live on. 

“Thanks, Clint.”

Even with this reassurance, Clint has a feeling that this ‘party’ is going to be fairly awkward.


	7. beer and Disney

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even if he want to prevent it, Clint has to take Bruce home with him while there's a party going on...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD I'M SO ASHAMED OF MYSELF. 
> 
> It has almost been two years, two years! Since I've last updated this story. I reread it this morning and I had to say, with the excitement going on for the new Avengers movie, I felt that it was time to try and get back to this baby of mine. 
> 
> Guess what? I wrote over 3.000 words in less than two hours! (which is fast for me, believe me dearies.) 
> 
> Anyway, I hope that there's still interest in this little story of mine? And I sadly have to inform you that this chapter is the first unbetaed chapter in this work. I lost contact with my beta... So you could say that I'm looking for a new one? Anyone willing to help poor little me out here?

“Home sweet home!” Natasha smiles as she throws open the doors of the car with a bit too much force, but hey, that’s Natasha and Natasha can do what she wants. Even if that is damaging a car that not one single person of their group will ever be able to buy in their lives. Except Tony of course, but Tony is an exception to almost anything so he doesn’t really count anymore. 

“Natasha?” Clint yells suddenly realising something. “Did you buy something for me too?” he asks, already going through the bags.   
“Uhm, yea I bought you some blouses that I thought you would like, because you know you can’t wear those stupid rock band t-shirt for the rest of your life! They’re in the blue bag, why?”

Clint smiles as he grabs a brand new blouse and throws it to Bruce. “Here, you can wear it for now, it would be awkward if someone saw those bandages, right?”   
“Thank you.” Bruce only whispers as he puts on the piece of clothing that doesn’t quite fit with the shirt he’s already wearing but Clint can see that this means a whole lot more to Bruce then he shows. 

“Come on you two! Let’s get going before Tony actually starts to call us, asking where we are!”

~

“We’re back!” Clint yells as he steps into the apartment. It’s almost comforting to see everyone, it’s almost normal. Except that it’s not but he could simply deny it and work around it. He’s always been rather good at pretending. 

Thor is on the sofa sitting like he owns the thing, a big smile on his face. Loki is sitting next to him in a much more tidier position but more laid back then he usually would be, he’s having one arm laying on the armrest and body turned towards his brother, a small smile playing on his lips. Maybe the trickster is planning something, he most likely is. After all, not a second goes by without Loki being busy working on tricks and pranks. 

Steve is in the armchair sketching in his sketchbook, he seems to do that a lot. Clint knows little to nothing about him. (after all Tony brought him with him only a week or so ago.) But he doesn’t mind him being around, Steve seems like a nice guy who is easy to trust. Even if he always wears those white shirts which are just a tad bit too tight. Oh well, he can live with that. 

“Hello.” Tony pops out of the kitchen, two beers in his hand. He has just showered and Clint bets that it’s Pepper’s doing. “Hey guys.” Pepper smiles and looks at Natasha. “Well, tell me, what have you bought today?”   
The two girls wander off, talking about dresses and shoes. Clint shakes his head, he will never understand the funny works of the female brain. 

“You brought Banner?” Tony raises an eyebrow. Clint shoots him a warning glance as he notices Bruce flinching next to him.   
“Yea, I did. He’s staying here for a couple of days by the way.” He states it so casually, as if it’s him who owns the place and not Tony. Clint grabs one of the beers from Tony’s hands and brings it to his lips.   
Tony looks at Bruce before shrugging and turning away from them. “Sure, why not. Rhodey will be here soon in case you were wondering.”   
“Cool.” Clint mumbles. “Did you invite anyone else?” He’s just asking, because if Tony invited that dickhead of a Joe he’s out of here, taking Bruce with him.   
“Nope, We want to see you sober for one weekend.”  
Rolling his eyes Clint nudges Bruce’s arm softly, careful not to hurt him. “Come on, I’m going to introduce you to my friends.” 

 

Turns out Bruce and Steve get along pretty well. Steve who apparently hates bullying and who is, as suspected, a really nice guy has been talking to Bruce for what seems like hours now. (even if it has only been 25 minutes. Clint knows this because he’s been carefully monitoring the time and everything that Bruce does. Natasha would call it his mother bird instinct.)  
Clint isn’t really sure about what they’ve been talking but he has seen Bruce relaxing more and more during the conversation. He smiles softly before standing up walking towards the kitchen for grabbing another beer. 

“Clint?” Bruce is standing behind him, he must have followed him when he got up. “Yea?”   
“Your friends are really nice.” Bruce mumbles, cheeks a bit red. It’s almost funny, because Clint knows for a fact that Bruce hadn’t had any alcohol and yet he stands here in his kitchen, leaning against the counter with a glow on his cheeks which usually belongs to the loved or the drunk. 

“You’ve only been talking to Steve, and Natasha in the car so far. How about you give Tony a shot, or Thor?”   
Bruce stiffens a bit when he names Thor, it hurts Clint more then he could ever describe. It’s as if there’s a knife going straight into his heart over and over again.   
“Come on Bruce, he’s no bad guy.” He whispers as he wraps an arm around Bruce’s shoulders. “I, I know.” He mumbles.“It’s just hard you know, trusting someone.” 

“I know Bruce, believe me I know.” Clint smiles for a second and he really, really wants to spit it all out. He wants to throw his life on the table. He opens and closes his mouth, looking for words which can explain but before he can Tony comes into the kitchen.   
“Hey birdbrain,” He yells to Clint who in return rolls with his eyes. “They want to watch a movie, will you be so kind to throw some popcorn in the microwave?”   
Bruce slips out of the kitchen, back in the living room to sit next to Steve once again. 

Turns out Thor gets to pick the movie and Clint is pretty sure it will be a Disney one, not that he minds. Thor has a soft spot for animated movies, he finds them fascinating. Loki finds it embarrassing.  
The Lion King is the movie for this evening and Clint is glad, it’s kind of easier to forget troubles when you’re too busy following the story of a little lion who grows out to be a king.   
He looks at Bruce as he sits down on the floor next to Natasha who’s crossed her legs and sips from her beer, eyes glued to the screen. 

“He looks good doesn’t he?” Clint whispers to her, eyes never leaving Bruce who’s just as busy following the colourful animation on the TV as everyone else. “He fits right in.”   
Natasha nods, but he can sense she wants to say something, he can feel the familiar tingle at the back of his head which he always feels when she wants to make a point. Natasha is smart, she always knows what she’s talking about. Maybe because she’s a girl and girls have senses which men can only dream of.   
“Promise me one thing Clint.” She looks at him with those stern eyes of hers and he nods, because he always promises everything to her. It’s part of their friendship. “Don’t hold on too tight, don’t force him into doing or becoming anything that he isn’t.” 

“What do you mean?” Honestly, Clint doesn’t understand her, he wants to be friends with Bruce, he wants to show him that there are people who care for him, people who love him. “I only want to help him.”   
“Yes you do, and that’s a good thing, but don’t hold onto him too tight, he has to want it himself.”   
Clint still doesn’t understand but he plucks at the hem of his black shirt and pouts his lips slightly, as a little kid who wants to get whatever silly thing it is that he wants. 

Natasha laughs and pokes him in his side with his elbow, just a bit too hard for his liking. “Don’t worry Clint, I’m just saying.” Loki hushes and Rodney – who’d entered the apartment about five minutes ago- glares at them, those two take their Disney very seriously.   
The rest of the movie passes Clint by in a blur, he’s partly paying attention to the screen and partly to Bruce. The other has visibly started to relax, he fits in the group really well, broken people they are. Every single one of them. Clint knows that he made the right decision when he asked Banner to stay at his place.   
They’ll all take care of him. 

The ending of The Lion King comes somewhat too soon, and Tony gets up to get even more beers. Whenever they hang out at their apartment everyone drinks alcohol, but no one ever gets drunk. The alcohol consumed is more done so in a manner of sociability than in a manner of getting-drunk-off-your-ass-just-because-you’re-a-teenager.   
Clint likes this way better. 

At some point he sees Steve getting up to help Tony and he takes his shot and sits down on the armchair the man has just left unoccupied. Close to Bruce once more. “How are you doing so far?” Bruce seems relaxed, still rubbing the bandages underneath his –Clint’s but that doesn’t really matter- blouse though. As if he needs to remind himself that they’re there.   
“I’m managing.”   
It isn’t really the answer Clint was hoping to hear but it’s a start. He hadn’t expected Bruce and the gang to be best buddies right away, but no one has made a comment about him being here and no one has given him strange looks so Clint considers it a great night. 

Time passes but Clint keeps sitting next to Bruce, not willing to give up his seat to anyone, not even to Steve, who ‘owned’ it in the first place. They don’t really talk about anything important, but Clint finds out that Bruce doesn’t really like beer, he doesn’t like alcohol in general, but that he totally enjoys all kinds of tea.   
Mint is his favourite ice-cream flavour and he’s got a soft spot for everything with cheese in it. 

It’s nice, to get to know Bruce like this, how later it becomes how deeper the conversations go. By now, Clint has figured out that Bruce has a strong opinion about anything and everything, but it isn’t until around 2am and they start talking about life after dead that Clint realises how bloody smart Bruce actually is.   
“I do believe in life after dead.” Bruce mumbles with his eyes focused on the glass of ice tea in his hand. “I believe that our energy lives on without our body, you could say that I believe in souls. Souls that get reborn.”   
He takes a sip and frowns, Clint can’t help but stare, because Bruce is fucking interesting and he wonders why he hasn’t talked with him about the mysteries of the universe any sooner. 

“I also believe that children get to chose their parents, does that sound weird?” He smiles a bit sheepishly, almost as if he’s ashamed for his ideas. “A bit.” Clint admits. “Care to explain?” He smiles at Bruce as he takes a gulp from his beer, he dislikes the taste of this particular brand, but Tony loves it so he has to deal with the bitter taste.   
“The souls with the most experience pick the hardest parents, I see life as levels, my soul has, let’s say, reached level 16. So the difficulty of my life is set on that level. But if I die, my soul has gained so much more experience, so I might level up to level 17. In that case my soul’s next life will be a bit harder than this one.” 

Clint nods, it sounds logical, it’s something he could believe in if he wanted to. Honestly, he doesn’t really believe in life after dead. If he dies, he’ll be dead, just that, he’ll stop breathing and it’ll all be dark and simply over.   
“So you think your soul is at level 16?”   
“No, I’d guess it would be at level 91 right now.” 

It’s around that time where Steve gets up and leaves, followed by Thor and Loki. Rodney has left hours ago, not really being there for anyone else but Tony. Natasha and Pepper are still sitting on the sofa but Pepper starts to yawn and it’s clear that they won’t be staying much longer either. Not that Clint minds, he’s tired after the events of the day. 

“Good night Honey, sleep well.” Natasha ruffles his hair instead of kissing him on the cheek and Pepper thanks Tony for the lovely evening with a scoff and a full length preach about personal hygiene and building miniaturized linear accelerators in your kitchen before they leave and the three of them are alone.   
“Where did we put that stretcher?” Clint mumbles more to himself than to Tony who’s clearly not paying attention anyway. “Why? You own a queen sized bed, let him sleep next to you or whatever.”   
Tony has never really grasped that silly little thing called tact, nor personal space for that matter. “Tony!” He hisses, hitting his roommate at the back of his head. Clint isn’t taking any of the TSB - Tony Stark Bullshit- tonight.   
“What?! Auw Clint that hurts, watch the brains will you? We threw the damned thing out, remember?” 

Clint doesn’t remember ever touching the thing for that matter, but if Tony says they’ve thrown it out, it’s most likely to be thrown out…   
“I hate you.”   
“No, you love me.”   
“GOODNIGHT STARK.”   
He drags Bruce after him, not ready to let him spend one more second with Tony when he’s had a couple of beers and a scolding from Pepper. “Don’t worry, he isn’t usually like this, and I’ll figure out something so you don’t have to sleep in the same bed as me.” 

Bruce’s hand feels hot in his own, because yes, Clint is holding Bruce’s hand as he drags him into his room. Because, A; he can’t really grab his wrists because of the obvious fact that there are still cuts on them and he really doesn’t want to hurt him. And B; because maybe he likes to hold someone’s hand from time to time.   
“I could sleep on the sofa, I really don’t want to bother you.” Bruce whispers in the most timid voice Clint has ever heard. “It’s more than enough that you let me stay in your apartment already.” 

Even if they’re already standing in Clint’s room he’s still holding onto Bruce’s hand, simply because it feels nice, and it doesn’t really feel strange at all to be holding the hand of the boy that he didn’t even know three days ago but who’s life he’d saved. He however lets go as soon as he realises that maybe it’s a bit too much for Bruce. 

“Listen here Bruce, you’re staying here, not as our guest or anything like that, but as a friend someone we want here. And you’re not sleeping on our sofa just because you think you’re taking up too much space. Hell, you’ve met all of our real friends just now and they take up all the space we have.  
Pepper and Natasha basically live here, I wake up most days of the week to find Natasha occupying our shower. Thor raids our pantries and eats all the food we own. Loki grabs our stuff, mostly Tony’s though, to perform pranks. Steve uses our living room because it has a nice light to draw portraits. I don’t think I can count the times I’ve come home to see some strange lady posing on our sofa for him to draw.  
They sometimes take up too much space Bruce. You could never do that.” 

At the end of his little rant Clint is panting slightly, those have been things he needed to get off his chest, which he needed to be put out in the open because his heart was going to burst with the weight of them.  
Bruce looks at him, partly bewildered and partly with something different, something nice, something Clint wants to see many more times in those dark eyes.   
“Besides Tony usually passes out on the sofa so that one is full.” 

The sound of Bruce’s laugh is still rather beautiful. 

“I’ll try to find an extra set of blankets and I’ll make myself a little nest on the floor, you can get the bed, I don’t mind.”   
“No.”   
“No?” Clint doesn’t really have another option which isn’t them sleeping in the same bed. “Did you have something else in mind?”   
Bruce shrugs and he honest to god blushes as he looks at his feet. “Maybe we could just...” he doesn’t finish his sentence, but he gestures with his hands towards the bed and his eyes keep glued on his feet as if they’re the most interesting thing in the whole world.   
Which is partly true, because Bruce is in fact the most interesting thing in the whole world Clint could think of. 

No he should stop the gay thoughts. 

“Alright, but only for tonight. Okay?”   
Bruce nods and Clint smiles, he shouldn’t admit to himself that he’s actually rather looking forward to spend this night together with Bruce, but he does and he’s ashamed of himself. “If you want to use the bathroom, it’s the door on the right of here.”   
Bruce thanks him and disappears for a while, Clint can’t say that he isn’t waiting for him to come back like the little puppy he actually is. Even so he forces himself to make himself useful, finding a pyjama for Bruce to wear and actually taking the effort to put a clean one on himself. He usually sleeps nude but he isn’t going to put Bruce through that. 

As they lay in bed, both carefully on each side, making themselves as small as possible not to touch each other, Clint remembers something. “Bruce! Hey Bruce!”   
“Yes?” He sounds clearly awake, as if he isn’t tired at all. “How do you like your eggs?”   
“Why? Are you going to make me breakfast tomorrow?” They whisper, even if Clint isn’t sure why, because Tony isn’t going to hear them anyway if the snores that can be heard from the living room are any indicator –and they usually are- but whispering is just something you do when you’re in bed together.   
“Maybe, if you’d like.”   
“Of course I’d like that.” Bruce giggles, he just giggles, how’s that even fair? How’s that even allowed to happen to him. 

They both relax, not laying as stiff as they used to, slowly moving towards each other as if by magic. Clint knows that it isn’t magic, it’s attraction, or at least for him it is. Their fingers touch each other by accident as Clint shifts around, kicking the blankets off him because it’s too damn hot right here for shit like that.   
“Oh.” He whispers, but not pulling back, he doesn’t really know why, maybe he’s waiting for Bruce to do that painful thing. To deny him the comfort of skin against skin, even if it’s only by touching hands. Bruce doesn’t deny him anything though, he just moves a bit closer. A bit more. Until he’s wiggled his hand completely under Clint’s. 

Bruce doesn’t say a word, he just looks at Clint, two eyes like glowing embers in the darkness. He gives Bruce’s hand a light squeeze, as if to comfort him, as if he wants to let him know that he’s there. That Bruce is alive and that he isn’t going to let him fall down into the darkness again. “It’s okay, I’m here.”   
“I know.”   
Silence falls over them, but both aren’t ready to sleep just yet. Clint hears it in Bruce’s breathing, it isn’t slowing down a bit, he’s still awake. “How long has it been since you’ve had a hug?” he whispers into the darkness, not daring to look at Bruce, afraid that he might see his emotions in his eyes. Even if he himself isn’t sure what they are. 

Clint wants to protect Bruce, to keep him safe no matter the cost. Hell, he’s at the point where he’d give his life to make Bruce happy. He doesn’t want to see another life lost because he didn’t help enough, because he didn’t give it his best. But on the other hand, his feelings are dark and messed up.   
He really needs to talk to someone about this tomorrow. Natasha most likely. She’d kick some sense into him.   
“Years, longer perhaps. My father wasn’t really much of a hugger.”   
“And your mother?”   
“Dead. Shortly after I was born.” There’s a pain in Bruce’s voice which Clint can hear even in the darkness, his stomach stirs because of it.   
“Girlfriends?”  
“Never had any.” 

Alone, that’s all that Clint can think, Bruce is utterly alone. And it makes him both angry and sad. “Boyfriends.” He tries softly, almost so softly he hopes Bruce didn’t hear it. “Are you asking me if I’m gay?” Bruce doesn’t sound offended, it’s just a typical following up question to him.   
“I’m asking you if there ever was a boyfriend who hugged you, that’s something different.”   
“No.”   
They fall silent again but this time it’s short lived. “Would you like one?” 

It’s a stupid question, they’re laying in bed for god’s sake and Clint’s asking Bruce to hug him. He can already hear the ‘gaaay’ in Bruce’s mind.   
“I’d like that yes.” The answer comes as a surprise to him, even if it’s the answer he’d hoped for. Yes, he’d really hoped to hear Bruce say yes.   
Oh god he really needed to stop!

Clint opens his arms as he hears the shuffle of Bruce slipping closer towards him until his warm skin touches Clint’s. The bandages on his wrists rubbing against his chest as Bruce wraps him into his arms. It’s strange to say the least, a bit gay too, but maybe this is what Bruce needs. Comfort.   
And Clint is willing to give it to him. 

“You still haven’t answered.” He whispers as soon as he starts to notice how Bruce’s falling asleep. “Answered what?” He mumbles, looking up with those clouded eyes in which Clint could drown.   
“How do you like your eggs?”   
Bruce laughs before burying his face against Clint’s chest once more. For a second it seems as if he’d fallen asleep, leaving Clint without an answer. 

“Soft.”


	8. A little sleep, a little slumber

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay then, here we are again. Almost a year after my last update this comes falling from the sky.   
> I'm terribly sorry for the long wait. But my personal life has been a rollercoaster the last year and I didn't really have inspiration for writing anything. 
> 
> I saw AOU a couple of days ago and the inspiration for this fic flared up again. This chapter might be a bit of a filler chapter but I might have lost my way with this, I'm trying to connect the strands which I cut a year ago. I'm getting there but it's a slow process. 
> 
> Like last time, I surely hope that there are still people interested in this silly little story ♥

When Clint wakes up he wonders why he’s feeling so great. Because he honestly can’t remember a Sunday morning on which he hadn’t woken up like a puking mess. Tony and Natasha always take care of him though, but waking up with a big hangover will never be classified as a pleasant thing.  
This morning its different, he doesn’t feel the urge to spill his insides on the floor, nor does he feel his skull splitting open when he opens his eyes and the golden sunlight reaches his eyes. 

He does remember this feeling though, the careless sleepiness’, the mornings spend under the warms covers in pure lazy bliss. But his memories didn’t do the actual feeling justice. Clint shuffled around underneath the covers, trying to find that perfect position which allowed him to drift off to sleep. As he turned around to lay on his right side he bumped against something.   
Something warm, something soft... Something quite human. His eyes flew open in surprise, his brain feeling like it had been stuffed with cotton balls. “Bruce?” Clint whispered roughly, his voice fogged with sleep. 

The other’s still asleep, mouth slightly parted as he snores softly. It’s rather adorable. Bruce sleeps so peacefully. None of his troubles seem to reach him when he’s sleeping. Clint figures it’s a good thing. Bruce deserves a break from the awful things that he has to go through awake.   
Clint wonders if it’s still acceptable to roll around and go back to sleep, after all it’s just 11 am. Not nearly time to get according to his schedule. It sounds as if Tony’s up already, at least there’s movement in the other room. It could also be Natasha or Thor who’re plundering their fridge. 

Bruce yawns and Clint’s attention turns back to the boy who’s curled up at his side. With his arms pressed against his chest and his eyes still closed Bruce truly is the poster boy of charming sleepers. It’s too bad that the white bandages kind of ruin the picture. “I can feel your eyes on me, you know.” Bruce smiles and Clint has to restrain himself not to jump off the bed. Damn the kid really got him startled there!  
“I’m sorry, am I not allowed to watch a friend.” 

Two of those gorgeous eyes open slowly and Bruce looks at him with question written in them.   
“Yes dummy, you’re my friend.” Maybe Bruce hadn’t grasped their relationship yet, but Clint would be lying if he said that he had. Maybe they’re not yet friends, but they fell asleep in each other’s arms so that has to mean something. Right? Damn he isn’t even sure about something simple as this. He really is an idiot. “I was wondering if I could call you my friend.”   
Well the fact that that they were wondering about the same thing must mean something good, or that is the only conclusion Clint can draw from this whole, weird, conversation. 

“Hey! Are you two boys up?!” Natasha calls from the other side of the door and this time both of them are startled by it. “God damnit Natasha!” Clint shouts but he doesn’t get a reply other than her laugh. He loves her, but sometimes he wants to end her. This moment he defiantly wants to do the later. Clint looks at Bruce, ready to apologize for his friend’s behaviour, but before he can even say a word Bruce bursts out laughing. “Your friends truly are something, I think I like them.” 

Breakfast is a troubling affair, it always has been with them, but if you add Bruce to the mix... Well than it only becomes worse. Natasha and Tony are really, really nice to him. Clint can’t complain about that. But it just, doesn’t work. Bruce is nice and politely waits for his turn to grab some bacon and eggs. His friends on the other hand are a bunch of wolves and a bear (Natasha wants to be called a bear because the whole Russian thing) who eat everything they see. Bacon first.   
So that morning, Clint was not only fighting for his own food, but also for that of Bruce. 

“Wolves.” Bruce mumbles to him as Natasha and Tony leave the kitchen to do whatever they have to do today. “I know right.” Clint laughs as the softly throws the plates in the sink, it’s Tony’s turn to do the dishes he decides. “But let’s focus on the more important question, what do you want to do today? I believe we got a project we’ve got to finish sometime soon.” That’s not quite true, they’ve got more than enough time. Around two weeks to do the damned project. Which, to Clint sounds like plenty, but he figures Bruce is more of the ‘do everything beforehand and not the last minute’ type. Which has his advantages as well. 

“Do you mean, talk about and procrastinate until the last minute?” Bruce jokes as he nudges his side playfully. “Hey mister! I don’t procrastinate, I wait until the last minute because I will be older and therefore more wiser.” Clint grins and Bruce nudges him again. “You’re the worst.”   
“I know, but that’s why you like me.” It’s all so simple, all so natural with Bruce. They don’t need to think about what to say, don’t need to wonder if they could make certain jokes. Their relationship is like a river. It goes how it goes, even if they’re not sure what kind of relationship they have. 

They spend the day laying around on the sofa, talking about the project, switching ideas back and forth until eventually they end up talking about totally different things. Bruce tells him about this one girl he liked about two years ago. Minnie or something. “Her name was horrible, I could barely say it without laughing. But she was beautiful, with big eyes and dark hair.” At some point Bruce has slid down until his head is resting on Clint’s lap. Again, it doesn’t even feel strange, completely natural. On the other hand, Clint has always been really physical. Hugging all of his friends, he likes contact, he needs it from time to time for different kind of reasons.   
Maybe Bruce needs it too, and in that case, Clint doesn’t mind giving it to him.

Absentmindedly Clint starts to play with the dark mass of curls, running his fingers through them and gently sliding his fingertips against the skin hidden between the mass. Bruce closes his eyes and sighs, clearly enjoying the little massage. It’s almost peaceful, or in fact it totally would be if Tony didn’t come walking into the living room with a frown which could only indicate that there was thunder ahead.   
“What’s up Tony?” Clint asks, not retreating his hands from Bruce’s hair. 

“Nothing you would understand, Barton.” Whenever Tony is pissed or stressed he uses Clint’s last name. It’s hardly intimidating since the only one who ever used his last name to scare him had been his mother. Tony might be frightening, but not to Clint, he could never live up to his mother’s temper and strong will. Maybe that was why the two of them worked as roommates, he could deal with Stark’s ego and snarky remarks because he was raised by the woman who was the inventor of those things. “Why don’t you try me, Stark.”

In the end, Tony had been right, Clint didn’t understand a single thing what Tony was saying. Something about bidirectional replication and guanosine. Whatever the hell those things might be. Suddenly he felt Bruce shifting around and he quickly pulled his hands back which were still blissfully resting between brown curls.   
Bruce was a fucking genius, not only did he have a clue what Tony was talking about, he also found a solution for the problem the rich smart boy had been trying to figure out. 

“Biochemistry is my specialty.” Was the only thing Bruce said when Clint looked at him as if Bruce had just proclaimed that he was the second Christ. “Well, you’re more that welcome to help me whenever I’m fucking stuck again.” Tony said with a laugh. “Anyone want a beer to celebrate the fact that the biochemistry mastermind just saved me a couple of sleepless nights?”  
“Tony, it’s only 4pm.”  
“Your point being, Barton?” 

In the end they ended up with a beer in their hands and a cup of tea on the table for Bruce. Clint wondered why they even got tea in their house, because he can’t remember it being in any of the cupboards yesterday, but when he hears his phone going off in the kitchen and he goes to read the received text, he’s greeted by a short and simple message from Natasha. ‘happy tea time x’  
She’s either a fucking spy or the fucking Devil. 

Tony and Bruce are sitting on the sofa, talking about chemistry and science with such passion that Clint has to stop in the doorway from the kitchen for a little while. Leaning against the doorframe with a content little smile on his face. This worked out better than he’d ever thought it would. Maybe Bruce isn’t opening up on a personal level to Tony, but he sure is talking to the other genius with such a passion it lights up his entire face. He’s glad he got the privilege to see Bruce smile like this.   
Clint isn’t exactly a specialist on the feeling of sadness, he doesn’t understand depression like others might do. He’s never suffered from it. Of course he had some hard times in his life, but he’d always had Natasha or Tony or any other friends to drag him through it. To keep his busy and away from the darkness which rested in the back of his mind. 

Bruce never had someone to help him with that, and if he’s honest, Clint isn’t sure if his friends can work their magic the same way they’ve worked it on him before/ Bruce already suffered too much, Clint doubts that a few nights spend watching a movie, or a few days laying on their backs at the park while Steve and Natasha make daisy chains for them to wear on their heads, will forever chase away the demons which haunt Bruce. Of course he hopes that it will be enough, hopes that the warmth his friends radiate towards the other will be enough to burn away the darkness.   
Clint wasn’t really aware that he’d been staring at Bruce from his little secure spot in the doorway, he had been way too lost in thought to notice anything actually, but when he gets pulled out from his worries by Tony’s loud and very well meant cough, he notices that Bruce is staring back at him. A red shine on his cheeks as if he’s been blushing. 

“Earth to birdbrain, earth to birdbrain.” Tony receives a half hearted punch on the shoulder for the remark. “You were staring for quite a while there Casanova.” The devilish grin which appears on Tony’s face is prove that Clint has to murder him at some point. Preferably tonight. Before Stark says something which he cannot explain to Bruce without sounding like he only wanted the other here to take advantage from him. Which is absolutely the last thing he wants to do.   
“How about I plant an arrow between your ribs.”   
“Too bad you left your Robin Hood gear at the shooting range. I checked beforehand. Better save than turned into a running target am I right?”

Luckily this seemed to distract Bruce, who raises an eyebrow and looks at Clint as if he’d just figured out the meaning of life itself. “You shoot?”   
“I use a bow, not a gun.” Clint laughs a bit nervously, it had started as a silly hobby in his youth but had grown into something more seriously when it was clear that he had a talent for it. “And he only takes from the rich to give it to the poor.”  
The next punch Tony receives surely isn’t as half heartedly as the first one.


End file.
